


Your Zenith Fades

by MintyGhoulette



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost Band
Genre: Complete, Depression, Drinking, Gen, Made up first names, Mentions of Sex, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Smoking, learning to accept change, papa iii is a drama queen, the emeritus brothers are actually really close, wholesome brother content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:01:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyGhoulette/pseuds/MintyGhoulette
Summary: Papa Emeritus the Third, former star of the ‘Ghost’ project, is not taking very well to retirement. After assaulting Cardinal Copia in front of an entire party, Papa seeks out advice to come to peace with both the end of his career. His father is less than impressed, per usual. But the Third finds his Catharsis in the most unexpected places- his two older brothers. Who have their own burdens to bare when it came to retirement.(Submission for the 2019 Ghost Fandom Big Bang!)





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> (Shout out to two of my good friends who beta'd this for me!  
AND A HUGE SHOUT OUT TO MY BUDDY ON TUMBLR @sleepybatart for the amazing Art piece that went with this!! Go follow them for some fantastic work!)
> 
> My submission for the 2019 Big Bang fandom event! :)  
I'll be uploading these in chapters... and also cheating a bit. I wasn't happy with very small grammar mistakes or sentence structures so there will be minor editing.  
You can find the original FULL piece on my tumblr! --> https://ask-the-clergy-bc.tumblr.com/post/187743661413/your-zenith-fades-big-bang-2019
> 
> Thank you and enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

He had that dream again.

He had been suffering the same one for so long he forgot what a decent night’s sleep felt like. Just the same damn scene playing in his mind night after horrid night. A broken record stuck in a loop with no end in sight; seeking to torment him like an everlasting Hell.

He never remembered no matter how many times he awoke in a cold sweat. Only the recurring feeling of shame and humiliation lingered in his gut as the memories fled. Even if the images faded they always manage to reduce him to a shaking, flustered mess. Every night they left him scared like a child with the fear of a boogeyman under his bed. Perhaps if he wished and focused hard enough, he might have recalled an inkling of the vision...

The beginning was always the same, masquerading as the one memory he desperately tried to repress. The same that haunted him every moment of his waking life. The scene rising from the depths of his subconscious like a vengeful spirit no matter how hard he ignored the truth. The last fleeting glimpses of his final performance always flashed before his eyes.

He saw the lights of the show beaming down, drowning the band in multi-colors. Him being on stage front and center, where he belonged. Arms in the air, heart beating to the cords of the Bass. The air buzzing with the chanting of the crowd as the final song of the concert rang out. Most importantly, his basking in the glory of it all. The audience cheering- their praise and adoration sounding out all for him. The fans loved him, and he loved every moment being in the star light.

In the dream it replayed how he went from preening to the attention to being ripped off his feet. Plucked from the stage as painfully as a feather ripped from a wing. Two sets of hands viciously grasping his arms and tugging him from his perch above the crowd. Confusion and panic blinded him as he kicked and flailed, struggling to break free. Head turning to the shocked faces of the crowd who cried out for him- demanded he be brought back! His own cries dying in the thunder of hysterics and instruments being dropped.

Above it all, one voice booming out slow and distorted- piercing through his entire being like a dagger through the heart.

** _‘il medioevo comincia ora…’_ **

The two security guards dragging him past the backdrops and curtains where none could see. The backstage slowly turning pitch black and oppressive. He would gape helplessly as the floors start to become sticky and dark, like tar. The unrelenting grips never yielded, and carried him on as though he weren’t stuck on the ground. Shadows churned the farther they plunged into the dark.

Twisted tiny forms pulled out of the tar, hunched and deformed and dripping from the sludge. His eyes were never fast enough to discern what shapes they mocked. Only able to hear the hisses of the little monstrosities as the spit and snapped at his ankles. Their beady eyes bright pin pricks amongst the suffocating darkness. The sickening squeaks slowly dying into fits of choking laughter. Jeers and cackles that grew into a crescendo of booming voices from every direction. Louder and louder until it pounded in his ears like a demonic heart beat.

The sticky shadow shapes always stretched and grew as they shrieked their mirth. They danced mockingly in the periphery of his vision. But he knew what they had become as they pointed and mocked him as he passed. Their bright eyes now shining in the masks of nameless ghouls. All of them screaming after him, chanting the same word over and over.

_Failure. Failure. **FAILURE!**_

Before he could ever beg them to stop the darkness would break into sudden neon light. His feet suddenly dangling at the mouth of a vast chasm. Fire and brimstone rolling within its belly as the glow painted his face a hazy orange. He gazed down horrified as he realized it was Hell itself waiting for him. His mouth opened to scream and no sound came out,, just a pathetic, garbled whimper. The heat unbearable and the flames far below burning his skin as sweat broke on his forehead.

He turned to plead with his captors one last time for salvation- knowing they were eager to cast him into the abyss.To his horror, the men behind him were gone. Instead his own abandoned ghouls, Alpha and Omega, leered back at him. Their masks now twisted and senseless with mouths cracked into their surface, one a smile the other a frown.

One to mock his predicament, and one to weep for his damnation.

Shamelessly he begged for their forgiveness. That they return and join him, like old times. If only they accepted and set him free! He could prove himself worthy of their respect and loyalty. Their fate could be different this time!

Alpha laughed a cruel, sinister sound that made his blood run cold. But not Omega. Omega only sighed remorsefully. The only ghoul he ever admired shook his head softly. Pity and sorrow shining in his blue eyes before they blinked into black depths under his mask.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost?”

He screamed as he was plunged into the underworld.


	2. Boiling Point

Smoking.

When was the last time he smoked?

An awful habit that ruined his tailored clothes and threatened to stain his teeth. Yet there he was, ruining his good designer button up with the scent. It reminded him of how many cigarettes his father and serpent of a mistress used to suck down growing up. Papa had hated it then, and he hated it now. Despite inhaling another lungful of noxious fumes, he found it intoxicating and comforting. It’s not what Papa had particularly wanted… but it’s what he needed.

Aside from countless bottles of wine and staring at the wall, the nicotine was the only pleasure that seemed to calm his nerves. Truth be told, it was a nice change of pace. Papa was getting bored of guzzling down his prized collection of vintages. His wine cellar was virtually bare and his personal liquor cabinet was now bone dry. Worse yet, he took up drinking alone. Not willing to find company, Papa become content to hold himself in his chambers and become a social hermit. Hell’s Gates, it had been weeks since he even adorned his chasuble and greeted his adoring masses in sermon!

The idea of facing the outside only made him drown in resentment- let alone finding a single being to spend time with! It was much easier for him to drink and scowl at nothing. At least the walls didn’t need to be woo’d and charmed into his bed… Papa’s nose scrunched at the thought. How long had it been since he last had a full bed? Lately, not even his favorite past time brought him any joy. His once hedonistic luxuries only made him feel hollow and bitter. It had been one too many times that he cast out Sisters from his bed too early in the night- leaving Papa feeling as jaded and unfulfilled as they did when they sobbed on their way out. Papa lost count of the Sisters that fled from his chambers with disheveled habits and tears from broken promises.

After one particularly bold and scorned sister screamed at him, Papa stopped trying to sate any carnal hungers altogether. Her words constantly rang in his head after their short stint in the bedroom. Her temper was unmatched as she snatched her clothes and stormed out from his chambers. The Sister shrieked that he was a fiend, dried up, and worse, a total has-been. The sheer amount of willpower it had taken to not throw her out on her ass was astronomical. Instead, Papa had slammed the door behind her so hard the hinges broke. He was not proud to admit it, but it set him off to the point he ripped the door off its frame altogether.

The memory caused Papa to slam his hand down on the table next to him. The ashtray trembled and wobbled on the hard surface, almost spilling the pile of ashes inside. It royally pissed him off thinking back on the disrespect! To think a lowly child of sin could talk to him so terribly, so LOWLY. What was he- A groveling ghoul? A piece of dirt? Papa recalled the days where sister would willingly eat their wimples before even THINKING of addressing him so disdainfully. And now what? Just because his singing career ended, he was no longer worthy of their respect.

The glowing end of his cigarette consumed the last of the white paper, letting the ashes flutter down as he inhaled too quickly. His black and white lips pulled back in a sneer as the grey flecks fell down his white shirt. With one last resentful puff of smoke, he finally squashed the butt of the damned thing into the marble tray. Papa watched with fleeting interest as the embers died in burnt ends and scorched varnish.

_Much like he did... _

Papa barely registered the sound of his chamber doors being opened as he shook his head clear. He was far too engrossed with his thoughts to even care. Lucifer himself could have strolled in with all the gold and whores in the world and Papa would not have paid any mind. A sardonic side of him was tempted to wish for an assassin. How amusing would that have been? Papa doubted many would have minded, including his own father or the wretch of woman running the damned Church...

The Anti-pope continued to stare ahead at nothing as footsteps quietly approached. The shades of his sunglasses concealed his mismatched eyes as they followed the figure coming out of his periphery.

“Do you have what I asked for?”

Blunt. The charming lilt to his honeyed words long gone. Papa doubted he could even force himself to be polite if he tried. All he cared about at that moment was the package held by the Brother of Sin in front of him. The man looked ready to keel over and die from nerves alone as shaky hands held out the all too familiar shape of a magazine. The tabloids and journals were something Papa found himself hoarding lately. All pertained to the current state of affairs of the Ghost project and took a considerable amount of space on his otherwise useless desk. Yet this particular issue was one he specifically demanded after some interesting hear-say reached his ears. Papa was keen to see why the newest publication of that _rat _was causing such a stir among fans. The brother finally spoke in barely controlled stutters as the Anti-Pope leaned forward.

“Y-yes, your Unholi-” he was interrupted as Papa snatched the book from his hands.

The man recoiled with a yelp and relinquished the book. The laminated cover nearly ripped from the sheer force of being torn from his hands. Had Papa sported his claws, he might have scratched the poor Brother's hands! The Brother of Sin looked ready to turn heel and free from his superior. Papa scoffed at the pathetic display and flicked his bare hand- long shed of his perfectly tailored white gloves.

“Go.”

He didn’t even bother watching the young man retreat, too focused in satiating his curiosity. Papa's need to keep updated was the only reason he would think to stomach reading ANYTHING about the _rat_. He shed the protective plastic as he finally got a good look at the cover, one that would feature his replacement. Papa had expected to see another boring portrait of the little man, yet not as flattering as the ones he used to take. Instead, he was met with the sound of his own shrieking before he could process what he saw on the cover. 

A HEAD- his own FACE staring back at him! A mockery of his own face held in that ASSHOLE'S arms! The same Asshole staring stupidly at the camera while his own FATHER posed behind him! Both tried to look intimidating as they clutched Papa's messy and decapitated head. The page didn't need words to illustrate the meaning of it. 

An era was dead. Killed in cold blood by the succession of a new age. 

_ **HIS era was gone.** _

Ashes were sprayed everywhere as the side table was sent soaring across the vast chamber. The marble of the ashtray shattered as cigarette buds littered the floor. The cover was torn from the book, the mockery of his visage destroyed as it was ripped to shreds. Pieces of the laminated paper fluttered limply to the ground in messy piles. Soon page after page followed the head until the magazine was no more. Papa stomped on the shreds with the heel of his black shoes- crushing them with all his weight and might as though to will them through the ground.

Another frustrated howl and his hands were in his hair twisting at the raven locks and nails digging into his scalp. He quickly found the pain brought him no respite and instead reached for the arm chair. There was the splintering crack of wood and it, too, was thrown the opposite way. Glass shattered as the ruined furniture crashed through the balcony doors. The curtains that covered them soon followed, and the decorative vases were next. Piece by piece, the sitting room was destroyed. Every tasteful decoration ruined, every rich tapestry shredded, and every painting mauled. Everything ripped apart until nothing covered the walls and laid in ruined heaps on the floor. In the center of the storm was Papa, rage the only thing that registered in his mind.

It might have been minutes, it could have been hours. But the third Emeritus did not stop until the entire chamber was in total carnage. Unfortunately, the rage did not subside as hoped through his careless actions- it only served to fuel his fit. Papa’s whole body continued to shake, boiling with barely concealed wrath. Casting his sitting chamber into ruin by no means helped, and only plunged his mood even further down. Papa needed to vent it more productively. 

There was no rational thought as he stomped over the broken furniture. Only the unquenchable need to rend and tear anything and everything that crossed his path registered. To Papa that path could only be sated with one sacrifice... He slammed the door behind him with a loud bang.

Papa Emeritus the Third didn't notice that a piece of the magazine had survived on his way out. He walked over the disappointed look of his father's face where it rested on the ground. But the breeze of the door swept aside the sliver of paper into the chaos. 


	3. Party Crasher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the chapter the art was meant for!!
> 
> Admittedly, I cheated when I put this chapter on here.   
I wasn't happy with a lot of the wording or lack of content. So there are things added and changed to make more sense, or sound a lot better.

Being consumed by near blinding rage did not stop Papa from navigating the vast halls of the cathedral. The distant cacophony of laughs and muted chatter aided him in his search. The Third Emeritus stumbled all the way down the corridor following the noise. His haze prevented him from making out the words, but it wasn’t necessary. Papa merely focused on the distinct, awkward gait of one voice. The annoying pitch of the man that stoked his hatred into hot coals.

When he crossed the threshold of the hallway, he found himself in one of the many open rooms. A grand party was in full swing, bustling with siblings and officials alike. The chamber was decorated finely, a huge celebration. In the right mindset he might have bemoaned his lack of invitation. It was of no consequence as he shoved his way into the crowd, the people around him blurs as his mind bayed for blood. Papa was distantly aware of calls and greetings of acknowledgement. He ignored them all as his eyes instantly locked onto his target, a lone red cassock in the back of the celebration. The Youngest Emeritus pushed past all the outstretched hands and eager pleasantries. A trail of confused faces and shocked eyes followed his back.

Cardinal Copia, the cause of his misery, was tucked along the back of the party. The Cardinal was chuckling and nodding along to a conversation with a smaller ghoul. Papa's frantic eyes never left the damned idiot. Copia carried on talking nonchalantly, as though he couldn't hear his superior's stomping foot steps. Everything about the man set Papa off. Copia's face was too rat like, and his pathetic movements made Papa sick. His mustache twitched like rodent whiskers, and his eyes were too beady and opportunistic. Eyes that were far too much like the bloodline he carried so proudly. Papa hated every inch of the Cardinal!

Unbridled fury continued to wash over him in powerful waves when he finally approached. His whole body trembled so violently he couldn't see straight. Copia's back was to the Anti-Pope. Papa doubted Copia would have ever noticed his presence had the conversation not suddenly halted. The ghoul had noticed Papa first, staring wide eyed under its chrome mask. Copia paused before glancing over his shoulder. The Cardinal has the audacity to seem shocked at Papa’s disheveled appearance- but offered a polite smile anyway. Copia bowed his head in proper respect and sheepishly raised a gloved hand in greeting.

“Good evening, Papa. How are you this-?”

The question was cut off by a chorus of shrieks and gasps. Papa towered over the crumpled figure of Copia, his knuckles screaming in agony from the strike to the Cardinal’s face. Crimson trickled down Copia's nose as he held his face in shock. The small offering of blood was hardly enough. Papa ignored the chirping, fleeing ghoul as his foot came down on the Rat's side. The high grunts and shouts from Copia only spurred him on. The sound made Papa more ravenous for blood, for the chance to maim and destroy.Lifting his leg back Papa brought it down heavily for another series of blows to the Cardinal’s gut. He paid no mind to the mortified crowd that shrank away from attack. Copia desperately tried to pull away with them, retching and gasping for breath as he clutched his stomach. The Cardinal would not get the chance to run as he was kicked onto his back once more in a shower of stomps.

A metallic skittering on the floor was what brought Papa out of his savage mindset. He saw the glint of crystals shining up at him as something hit his foot. Papa realized Copia’s Grucifex, made of the finest stones to signify his meager office, had become detached by the violent assault. It laid face up, somehow in one piece despite its snapped chain. Papa’s nostrils flared as he saw a tight, leather clad hand weakly reached for it. A sickening crunch echoed as Papa’s dress shoe heel came down on the hand. Copia let out a howl of agony before retracting his arm, holding it pathetically to his body like a wounded animal. Another crack and the Grucifex was mangled under his shoe. Papa kicked the offending jewelry across the tiles, ignoring the stray crystals that flew in every direction.

“You might have all of them fooled,” he spat, a wide hand gesturing to the horrified onlookers, emphasized by another jab with his heel. Copia gasped as he was plucked from the ground and slammed into the wall. Papa's fist were balled into the Cardinal's cassock as he hissed. Copia was let go as Papa kicked him again and again.

“You might have the world groveling at your feet, now. But you are nothing.”

Papa didn’t stop, he physically couldn’t if he wanted to. Had it not been for the large ghoul that ran up, he might have kept going until Copia was bloody pulp under his feet. The ghoul shoved the Emeritus away by the shoulders. Papa snarled and fought back to hurl more abuse at the Cardinal.

“You are nothing but a leech, trash- a rat!! And that’s all you will ever be! Envious of our noble blood, but never worthy for the crown. We all know it! You’ll never be good enough, no matter how much paint they put on your face!!”

Had he been in his right mind, he might have been taken aback by the look Copia sent him. The pretender’s own white eye blazed as he laid on the floor. As white hot as his own anger. Could looks kill, Papa would have been murdered a thousand times over. The Emeritus did not relent, even as a second ghoul tried to pull him away. To his credit, he fought with all the demon blooded strength he could muster. All to get at the rat writhing under his gaze.

“You are just the dirt under our shoes, Imperator’s LAP DOG! A laughing stock! Wait until you fail!! We’ll be the ones laughing then!!”

He kicked and shrieked, hurling incoherent abuse after abuse. A third ghoul was forced to stand up and restrain Papa. Finally able to haul him off of his feet and past the gawking crowd. The youngest Emeritus made a spectacle of himself as he was carried out. His legs flailing, as his arms were locked back by the burly ghouls. He continued to shout until his voice was hoarse, lost as echoes on the walls. So many eyes stared at him, as though watching an active car wreck. Just like his last ritual…

Papa managed to get out one last shriek before the double doors shut.

“RAT!!”


	4. Scolding

The following morning was absolute misery. Papa had awoken to a headache so fierce his ears rang and his temples pounded. He wondered if death was preferable to feeling like your head was being collapsed by a vice. What was worse, he wasn't allowed to sleep it off like normal. The bright sunlight streaming into the office windows did nothing to help his predicament. Even with designer sunglasses his migraine was utter torture. 

Papa gave an exasperated sigh as he looked around his father's office. The same grand room since his childhood. Gold, opulent, and with the same damn bowl of hard caramels on the desk. He shifted in his seat and pretended to be more interested in his unopened water bottle. Anything to avoid the disappointed look the painting of his father gave him from beyond the ornate desk. How strange seeing the look of the man in his prime. It reminded Papa of seeing the same younger face that scolded him as a child. The youngest Emeritus wanted to flip the portrait off. But why settle for a painting when he could do it to the real thing? 

As if on cue, the door behind him creaked open. Papa didn’t bother to stand or acknowledge his father as he shuffled in. The unmistakable wheezing and clinking of the air tank wheels did nothing to bother him. The Third Emeritus kept his seat, fiddling with his water bottle as the decrepit figure lumbered into view. There was a screeching of chair legs as the elder man settled down, followed by a quick bout of gasping. Papa didn’t bother to meet the set of cataracted, dead eyes glaring across the desk. 

Grand Papa Nihil looked less than pleased to see his youngest son. More disappointed than usual, if such a thing were possible. 

“Antonio,” rasped the elder man’s voice- strong despite his rotting lungs. 

Antonio, when was the last time anyone had called him that? Not since his ascension to Papacy, at least. The name almost sounded foreign coming from the older man, as though summoning a spectre long since passed. Antonio could barely make the connection to himself. But here he was, forced down to the man he was under all the paint and lavish robes.

“Good Morning, Father.” Began the youngest, bitter expression betraying the lilt in his voice. “And how does this absolutely FINE day find you?”

“Enough with the mindless prattle, boy. You know why you are here.” 

Antonio winced and clutched his head. Despite barely being above a rumbling growl, Nihil’s voice managed to pierce his ears. His hangover became that much more excruciating. He supposed this was his punishment for drinking in earnest last night. Anything to drown out the anger and bitterness after the stunt he pulled. The memory made his temples pulse again, and he rubbed a thumb into the side of his head. Willing the pain to subside long enough to get out of this relatively quickly. 

“Care to enlighten me?”

Nihil slapped a large hand onto his desk. His age did not betray his strength, and it sent a tremor through the wood. The rattle of papers and knick knacks made Antonio want to vomit from the noise. The younger Papa hissed at the sound, and the snarl of his father. 

“Don’t dare to play coy with me, Antonio! Once again, your actions disgrace both the Clergy and myself! Causing such a scene at the party last night. Have you no shame, boy?” 

Nihil held up a shaking hand before Antonio could respond. A noise of protest leaving the younger man’s lips. 

“I do not want to hear it.”

Antonio crossed his arms with a sour face as his father bent down and lifted up the oxygen mask from his tank. With a rattling breath, the Grand Papa inhaled deeply. The old codger gaped like a fish out of water, trying to suck down as much air as he could. The youngest Papa had often wondered how much the geezer had left to him. It was moments like this he figured the old man would never die. Fitting. Nihil was probably keen to haunt Antonio for the rest of his natural born life. Antonio waited for his father to speak once more after an uncomfortable silence. The Grand Papa hissed out a sigh and set the mask down. 

“Would it be too much for you to conduct yourself properly? Is wearing your crown proudly too much of a burden? No dignity, no regard for your rank! Such disgrace- An utter embarrassment!” 

Antonio winced as the Grand Papa’s voice boomed around them. In another life, he might have cared that he was being belittled yet again. Antonio was that much tempted to respond the way his always did. Take it for every word. Letting the disappointment of decades soak in only to eventually slink out of the office with his tail between his legs and resentment permeating around him. All that was stripped away as soon as Nihil gestured to his son with a gnarled hand that made Antonio snap back to attention. 

“Are you listening, Antonio?” 

“Oh, I am listening, father. You know I’m always so EAGER to learn how I’ve failed you.” 

Far from their first back and forth, this much was true. Yet venom dripped from the younger man’s tongue with such hatred it took the Grand Papa aback. Nihil hissed through his teeth as though his son spat acid at him. His tone turned low with warning as he wheezed another breath. 

“Boy, you-”

“No, father! I WILL NOT sit here and be demeaned yet again! Have I not heard it entirely before?”

“Antonio-”

“What? No longer enough to just scold me like a child? Instead, why not REALLY speak your mind, father!” 

His voice rose to unreached heights that it startled Nihil into a shocked stare. Never, even in his rebellious years, did he have such audacity to raise his voice so high to his father. Antonio could tell the Grand Papa was at a lost for words as his cloudy eyes began blinking in disbelief. Anotino stood high, ignoring his throbbing skull’s protest. His hands slapped down on the strong wood as he leaned face to face with his father. 

“Might I suggest switching it up? We all know you’ve been dying to say so much more! Even after I bring you home success? Followers? FAME? But no, tell me again how much I am a failure.”

The old man’s jaw snapped shut in indignation.

“Antonio-”

“I know- Why don’t we call our precious Sister Imperator down! She’s usually in the spirit of helping you carve me down! These were mostly her thoughts weren’t they? After all, we know how you can’t think without the snake-”

“That is ENOUGH!!”

The large chair screeched as Nihil pulled to his full, frightening height. As a child he would have been cowed by the monstrance difference. Antonio remained steadfast as his mismatched eyes bore into the challenging milky depths of Nihil’s. A smarter man might have kept his mouth shut and backed down. Even ask for forgiveness! Hurt and wounded pride would not let him. Not after the agony of his current position- all the humiliation, degradation, and long buried transgressions bursting to light. Antonio flashed his canines at the older man, practically challenging him then and there. The Grand Papa snorted and jabbed a boney finger in Antonio's chest. 

“Never speak so poorly of Sister Imperator in my presence again.”   
Antonio rolled his eyes and slapped the hand away, provoking his elder father further. 

“Forgive me, O’ Grand Papa- I tend to forget. She is far more valuable than any of us humble beggars.”

“Sit down, Antonio-”

“Let alone the meager soul of your youngest-”

“I’m ordering you to-!”

“So much more beloved than your own CHILDREN!”

“Sit DOWN-!!”

The proud, sturdy wood of the desk splintered under the ancient Papa’s hand. Nihil struggled to catch his breath as he refused to yield to his son. His tall form began to shake with age and the demonic blood that sung in his veins. Antonio could only blink in disbelief for a heart beat at the sight. Then a dry, bitter laugh rasped from the Third’s throat. Lifting his arms up and out, tilting his head up to get that much closer. 

“Or what, Father? Tell me. What possible punishments do you have for me? What fate could you possibly deal that hasn’t already broken me?”

Antonio snarled before his father could even open his mouth. The shouting bounced off the old walls in a cacophony of anger. He raised a finger, a claw slowly coming out of the tip as his inner beast came to light. 

“What more could you possibly do! Drag me off the stage again? Take away all I have ever truly loved? Then I’m sure you and your precious sister could have a good laugh! Just watching your ‘idiot son’ be humiliated in front of the world again! Surely that will bring me to my knees! I can already feel myself seeking penance for it. Here father, why not strip and lynch me in front of the whole Clergy. Let them see how shameful I truly am!”

The younger slammed a fist hard on the desk once more, scattering knick knacks to the floor with barely concealed might. His voice broke and became a shrill cry.

“After EVERYTHING I’ve done for you! Done for THIS ministry! Rub salt in the wound! Quarter me, bury me- CRUCIFY ME for last night! I am already dead to the empire I BUILT. What could you possibly do now that hasn’t already been my damnation?”

He didn’t even feel the tears running down his face. Nor did he savor any self pity or sorrow they brought. His head was too gone and his heart in too much turmoil. It was a miracle his father, the instrument of his life long misery, had not interrupted. Had let him vent everything welled up and festering in his soul for so long. Antonio could not even bare keeping the Grand Papa’s cloudy eyes. He finally dropped his own to the desk as he began to sulk. Shoulders dropping and pulling away from the fine would that now sported two sizable dents. 

Papa Emeritus the Third did not wait to be dismissed, and turned tail. 

The large ornate door slammed shut without so much as a glance back to the Grand Papa. 

It was for the better that he didn’t. Antonio might have broken if he had seen the look of pity in his father’s eyes.


	5. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That wholesome Emeritus brother bonding.

Here they were again in the little sitting room. Neither of them were Papas in the cozy little make-shift office, just brothers. Albeit rather estranged in their old age, and hurting for time to visit. But they were still brothers and as close as ever. 

As with his father, his title mattered very little. He was no longer Papa Emeritus The Third, Unholy Vessel of Lucifer and the World of the Clergy. 

And his brother was no longer Papa Emeritus, First to bear his name and Speaker of His Word. 

They were simply Enzio and his baby brother Antonio. 

Like they were decades ago, and like they will be in the future and, eventually, afterlife. Birds of a feather and as bonded as ever. The only thing missing from their quiet little meeting was their middle brother. Understandable, as he was always quite preoccupied with meetings, both of the business and intimate sort. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, his other sibling’s absence. It gave Antonio some much needed one on one advice he desperately sought… He needed to be patient, though, and wait until it was time. 

Just like they were as children, Antonio found himself sitting in his big brother’s chair watching as the older man worked. Maybe if he was still small he would have been kicking his legs contently. Instead he sat with his ankle on his knee and his bottom leg bouncing anxiously. Antonio still look mystified with the same childlike rapture as his older brother carried on with his chores. Enzio, typical for his recreational time, again was bending over his sprigs of herbs that he meticulously grew by the windows of his office. The eldest brother had once described the wide variety of foliage as ‘crucial’ to his rituals. Antonio often suspected the older man simply enjoyed gardening. The Eldest Emeritus Brother had quite the talent for it, to boot. There were countless pots of luscious, full green leaves on every available window sill. Vibrant, yet trimmed lovingly by their vigilant and patient care giver. 

The youngest couldn’t help but chuckle as he studied Enzio muttering to himself and pouring pre-measured cups of water into marble pots. Antonio had always found it such an endearing sight to see how his brother fussed over his plants. Babbling about their leaf length, color, and even soil moisture. Such minor details to many, yet a world of difference to this one old man. These little details were why Enzio was such a good Papa to their Clergy, Antonio thought. Even if he was the least favoured among their Ministry by the youths, Enzio was by far the most nurturing. 

A shame really, but Antonio understood the disconnect between their followers and Enzio. The eldest Emeritus, despite his caring and love of his flock, was the most intimidating of the three brothers. Enzio’s first offense being his unfortunately frightening appearance. Age giving him no favors to his sharp, hooked nose, beady eyes, or tall hunched figure. The second being his preaching style, in which he conducted sermons in the same fire and brimstone passion one might find in some cartoon villain. Finally, and most tragically, was his often wispy, monotone way of speaking. Often blunt and almost TOO to the point, betraying any hint of compassion he might be trying to express. Siblings of Sin regularly accused the oldest Emeritus brother of being hard to confide in for all these reasons. Yet, to Antonio, it was hilariously to the contrary. 

Antonio used to laugh at all the Siblings of Sin who would cower under the Enzio’s gaze- as though expecting him to strike them down the moment they skipped their unholy hymns or arrive late to a sermon. If only they had known what he did! That the man they feared was nothing but a frail old scholar, who obsessed over his plants and studies. That Enzio would rather scold a book for being out of place before he ever raised his voice to a Sibling needing guidance. For Antonio, it was almost like having a dirty little secret knowing that he saw the real Enzio. That underneath the mitre, incense smoke, and impassioned speeches was just his brother. 

Then again, Antonio knew he was biased as he observed his eldest brother again. A fond smile tugged at his lips as Enzio consulted his growth charts and watering schedules. How could Antonio ever be afraid of the man that practically raised him from childhood? If only their flock could see the soft, caring man that raised his two younger siblings. The man that, in his youth, dutifully studied, worked every hour, and still found time to give to his needy younger brothers. The brother that became more of a father in his early years, and never regretted a single moment- Enzio had said so himself once a blue moon ago.

Enzio was only ten years their elder, yet much more of a parent than their father ever had been. Grand Papa Nihil far too busy with running the clergy and attending to his mistress than raising three boys. Nihil never cared for the sacrifices and expectations his had forced upon his first born. Enzio had given everything for his two younger siblings and the Ministry every waking moment of his existence. There were times Antonio remembered Enzio being sleep deprived, practically passing out standing up, but insisted he help with his brother’s studies. Or the countless childhood nightmares making Antonio beg to sleep in big brother’s bed. Enzio agreed every time, and used to read to Antonio enough to let him fall back asleep no matter how long it took. 

Antonio remembered being utterly heartbroken the day Enzio left for his Seminary after turning eighteen. It was a blow to his little heart watching his beloved brother disappear for a whole decade. Antonio had clung to his leg, screaming and demanding to be taken with Enzio. Eventually Enzio did return with black robes and a wickedly painted face. Nothing kept Antonio, a new adult himself, from embracing his newly promoted brother- like nothing had changed. Truthfully, nothing between them did, other than a busier work schedule and less time to bond. How lucky Antonio felt thinking that one of the only stable aspects of his life was always in front of him, wrist deep in soil and foliage. 

There was a sudden curse that pulled the youngest Emeritus from his thoughts. He watched as a pot teetered on the edge of the table, Enzio recoiling form having smacked into it with his elbow. Antonio raced to Enzio’s side as it plummeted from its perch, snatching the pot mid air before it struck carpet. The younger man hopped up with sage triumphantly in one hand. Enzio couldn’t help but grin at the theatrics and happily accepted his potted friend back from his brother. 

“Thank you,” rasped the eldest Emeritus with a grateful nod. 

“My pleasure,” Antonio huffed, catching his breath. 

“You are much more spry than I am. I was fearful that I might be mourning good sage.”

Enzio carefully sat the plant as lovingly as one might a child. Once in its rightful place he offered Antonio a grateful pat on the shoulder. His firm touch betrayed his old age yet Anonio did not mind. He fondly watched Enzio shuffle past back to the pair of plush armchairs. The older man quickly made himself comfortable as he waited for Antonio to join him. Enzio cleared his throat as Antonio dropped down next to him. 

“My thanks for your patience, Antonio” he began in his slow and deep voice. “My plants were overdue for their watering this week. You understand.” 

“I should be thanking you for taking the time to see me. Tea?” 

Porcelain clinked as it was picked up from the full tray Antonio had requested be brought to them. Two cups, one decorative pot, and a plate of small finger sandwiches waited for them. Warm steam rose up as Antonio poured the tea water into Enzio’s favorite cup (a chore to get, but worth the effort). The elder brother clicked his tongue in thanks, savoring the herbal smell. Antonio plucked one of the delectable bites up as his brother fixed their cups perfectly. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.” 

The sandwich stopped halfway up to his mouth, Antonio dropping it in surprise. He cursed as the cucumber filling splattered onto his designer waistcoat. Damn it. How could he be stupid enough to believe he could fool Enzio’s supernatural levels of perception? A plastic like smile graced Antonio’s features as he tried to compose himself. Producing a napkin he dabbed at the new stain with a stiff chuckle. 

“Pardon me?”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” his brother reiterated, pointing down at the cups. “You only drink Mate-blends when you have insomnia.” 

Antonio hesitantly looked down at the offending tea bag, and frowned. Sure enough, ‘Mate-Green’ was on the tea bag label. The man could read him like a book, that much was obvious. 

“Does something trouble you, Antonio? It’s not like you to not sleep.” 

The younger Emeritus bolted upright and stiffened straighter than a board. Antonio wanted to argue, to play it off like it was one of his many week long stints. He was a man of nightlife, wasn’t he? He could blame it on the dinners, parties, and orgies he was no longer having. The look in his brother’s eyes made Antonio immediately reconsider. Antonio had never been able to lie to Enzio, not even as a child. The look in Enzio’s eyes was far too sympathetic and trusting. The older man must have seen Antonio’s sudden look of apprehension. 

“You know my door is always open for you, Bambino.” 

The use of his childhood pet name is what doomed Antonio. Shamefully, he broke down like a dam with all of his emotions flooding out. As he did so many times in his youth, he wept in front of Enzio. Barely able to string a comprehensive thought, let alone speak- the youngest continued to sob. Everything he had been holding it was too much, and Enzio had seen through his nonchalant facade. 

Maybe if he was in his right mind, Antonio would have admitted to being at his lowest point. Everything was crashing down around him, and he wept in front of his beloved brother with the ferocity of a toddler having a meltdown. Antonio buried his face in his hands for what felt like hours. Shoulders heaved as he cried out every last drop of frustration and sorrow that plagued him for weeks. When he finally caught his breath, he attempted an even voice. That too failed, and Antonio only whimpered out like a scared child.

“S-sorry-! My apologies, I was not intending to-”

Enzio lifted up an open palm, quieting down his brother immediately.

“Antonio, when have I ever scolded you? I’ve always asked you be nothing but honest with me in your feelings. Now I will do the same for you. You must understand how you have nothing to be ashamed of. Like us before you, you carried great pride for your work and your duties. Bowing down gracefully is an act of strength and humility- so much against what we’ve been taught, no? Let it be a solemn time for you. You’ve dedicated so much to the Ministry and to His Infernal Majesty. It is only fitting that you weep for that which you have sown. ”

Enzio- so genuine in his lack of judgement, so kind in his understanding. Granted, a tad on the preachy and rehearsed side, but Antonio appreciated it more than the other man could know. Yet he couldn’t help but pull a sour face at the comforting speech. Antonio finessed a finely embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. Wrinkling his nose in distaste he soiled the fine silky fabric with tears and smudged paint.   
"How do you know that's what I meant-?"

"What else would it be, Bambino?"

Point. Antonio wrinkled his nose. 

“True, yet I don’t remember you sobbing like a babe when you were demoted.” 

“Demoted? No. Stepping down for the good of the project? Yes. Antonio, you understand, I knew it was inevitable. I was prepared to hand over the role for the success of our Church. Yet that does not mean I was not heartbroken, like yourself.”

“‘Heartbroken’? You must be joking. Enzio, you practically handed away your title on a gold platter!” 

“Remember what I said about humility?”

Enzio chuckled dryly at his little brother’s puzzled expression. 

“Antonio,” he began again softly, “Though we must bask in Pride, as Lucifer has taught us, we must know our place in the grander scheme of things. The Ghost Project is only a small piece of our roles. You must know that there is more to you than this one act. Lucifer wills you to continue, that he needs you for something grander. Have faith in Him.”

Rolling his eyes wasn’t intentional, but Antonio found himself scoffing at the advice. He crossed his arms and pouted like a child.   
“What does that have to do with how “Heartbroken” you were? That’s not what I asked!”

Another whisper of a laugh sounded from Enzio, the same one he gave whenever a younger Antonio would fuss and complain. The younger man was tempted to snap at his brother, but chose to bite his tongue. 

“I was incredibly heartbroken that my time was up, Antonio. You know this pain well. It is never an easy feat to give up one’s place. Yet I know that this was not the only plan our Dark Lord had for me. Yes, I could have kicked up a fight and scrapped for my position back. But I had faith that this was not the end for my duties, nor my life’s work. As they say, dear brother- the end is also a new beginning. I rather prefer to step down when the time comes and welcome a new chapter- both for the Clergy and myself. I have no doubt our times end when they need to in light of another path. This is what comforts me.” 

The brothers sat in pregnant silence when Enzio finished. With shaking hands Antonio sipped his tea, trying to calm himself. Faith in Lucifer? He was devout, but never as zealous as his eldest brother. How could he have faith in something so drastic and unforgiving?

“Enzio-?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s say I do not have the ‘graciousness’ to step down so humbly as yourself. That I’m not ready for a ‘new chapter’.” The older man arched an eyebrow but nodded along quietly. 

“Let us pretend I am virtually incapable of such a feat. Perhaps my own pride is too great. What do I do then?” 

“You do not give yourself enough credit-”

“Brother, please- humor me.” 

Surprisingly, Antonio watched as Enzio leaned back in his seat and stared off into the distance- his tell-tale sign of seriously considering the question. The dregs of his mate-tea were slurped down as his knee bounced, waiting for the infinite wisdom to come spouting from Enzio. He was sorely tempted to wave a hand in front of the older man’s face when it did not come quickly enough. His patience was rewarded as Enzio stared back and nodded matter of factly. 

“I do not think I am the one that can help you, Antonio.” 

“Then who should I speak to about all this if not you?”

“Our Brother.”


	6. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More wholesome Emeritus Bro content, featuring Papa II.

Idle time was hard to come by in the life of the Papacy. Despite all of the perks and benefits of being Papa, luxuries like family bonding became a sort of commodity. Schedules were tricky to match when all three siblings rotated between obligations, Clergy meetings, and chasing one’s own private pleasures. Antonio had been extremely fortunate to have found an afternoon he could spend with Enzio. The stars aligning just right so he might speak with his eldest brother relatively painlessly. On the other hand, arranging a night with his middle brother had been much more frustrating. 

Papa Emeritus the Second, Antonio’s brother and predecessor, was an incredibly busy man. 

The younger Emeritus had bothered the Second’s secretary for two days straight until he had a definitive date- checking in every hour on the hour for openings and any cancellations in appointments. Finally finding an exception to their harrowing schedules for one night, so they might meet, was a relief. The secretary was even bullied enough to jot the exact time down in the fancy, leather bound planner. Antonio vehemently insisted on sending a text reminder, as well, making sure no precaution was forgotten. This being the first time in months he was able to speak to the Second uninterrupted, and he was not going to squander it! 

Antonio chose a favorite restaurant of theirs as the meeting place. The younger brother could think of no better way of spending time than at such a fine establishment. After all, dining was a passion they had developed together as soon as they were young men. A particular favorite sin of indulgence they shared together, outside of their similar tastes for women and luxury. Not to forget, an unblessed excuse to get away from Ministry grounds for the evening. 

The youngest Emeritus arrived first. A classy yet quiet Italian place that had been around for decades. It boasted a long history of hosting the finest and richest guests. The food alone was well worth the bribe it took to squeeze in a last minute reservation. He booked a secluded table table for two on the outside balcony. That way they could enjoy the sunset and the subsequent city lights when night followed. A cool breeze marked the perfect time of year. Fresh air and lovely scenery would pair well with their meal. Antonio was confident his brother would never turn down such a night! 

With a flourish he sat down and placed a wine order immediately. Their finest, of course, only lightly chilled. He was content to tide himself over with the fresh bread and oil laid out. No orders were placed as he waited, insisting on nursing his new glass of Masseto Toscana. Though the burgundy elixir was downed in minutes before Antonio anxiously poured himself another serving. After being alone for so long the new wait for company was becoming borderline excruciating.

Minutes ticked by, and soon he found himself waiting for half an hour. The waiter would meekly ask if he would like to order, but Antonio declined- seeming nonchalant. The bread kept his stomach from being too empty, thankfully as he got half way down the bottle. After the third glass was polished off he frowned, the temptation to cut his losses almost had him requesting the bill. Thankfully, a firm yet smooth voice banished all of his fears. 

“Pardon my Tardiness, the meeting ran later than anticipated.”

Antonio grinned wide, the first time in ages. The younger stood up and held out his arms in greeting.

“And here I worried you stood me up again.” 

There was a shadow of a smirk from Papa Emeritus the Second as he regarded his younger brother. There was no embrace, nor handshake from the two- and there didn’t need to be. Only the meaningful chuckles as they both took their seats. Antonio wasted no time in pouring them both a fresh glass. The older Emeritus took it gratefully and swirled it, weary from the day’s events. His brother’s deeper, rich voice finally broke the silence. 

“Stand you up? There’s an idea. But then who would pay for my meal?” 

“I could name plenty of Sisters who would gladly,” Antonio said, laughing light-heartedly. He cleared his throat as he offered a small grateful smile to his curious brother. 

“It really is a pleasure for you to join me, Giovanni.” 

The Second Emeritus glanced over his signature sunglasses at the mention of his first name. Very few ever called him by it since his own ascension into Papacy. Antonio knew he was always an exception to this unspoken rule. 

“It has been far too long,” Giovanni agreed. 

The waiter was quick to scurry over as they settled. Neither of the brothers were phased by the interruption. Instead, they were happy to deliberate their order together- a bit of a past time in lightly debating wine would pair perfectly with their meal. It took a few minutes of light bantering before they settled on two bottles of Pinot gris with their entrees. Giovanni refused the Wine List and picked the finest bottles in the restaurant stock. Both men grinned at one another as the waiter dashed away, chuckling as he hastily complimented their choice. 

Fresh bread and oil were brought out and swapped with the old basket, as their wine was poured. Excellent service, thought Antonio as he and Giovanni sipped their topped glasses. Definitely worth a decent tip should it continue. The pair sat in peaceful silence as they patiently waited. Together they basked in the quality of their drinks and the nice breeze over the balcony. Antonio hadn’t realized how hungry he had actually been until two steaming plates of seafood were served in record time. The waitstaff, he concluded after inspecting his perfectly cooked scallops, would be getting their usual %50 tip. 

Giovanni was the first to speak after they had their fill of exquisite pasta and shellfish. A thoughtful look graced his normally stern face as he poured more of the white wine. A leather clad finger traced the rim of his glass as he looked up to Antonio. 

“You look troubled, dear brother.” 

Antonio scoffed as he grabbed for the bottle, unceremoniously filling his empty glass.

“Would you believe me if I said I was quite tired of hearing that?”

“Absolutely not- considering what I’ve been told of the good Cardinal’s Congratulatory Party.” 

A smirk was shared between the brothers as Antonio carefully pressed the glass to his lips. He took a long, easy sip as he regarded Giovanni’s words. There was a chuckle as Antonio tried to play coy. 

“Oh, you heard about that?”

“The whole Abbey was in an uproar over it. Not to mention I was the one stuck hearing about it from Father. He had some colorful words about the ordeal. So I’ll thank you for that fun afternoon.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m buying you dinner,” Antonio muttered with a grimace. 

“Oh, you’ll be treating me for a week- I can assure you. Just be grateful that’s the only slap on the wrist you were granted.”

They snickered quietly, polishing off their glasses. Another blanket of silence fell over the pair as the air started to cool. Antonio shifted in his seat as he turned to study the scene below. lights dancing awake on the streets as the sun dipped under the horizon. He could not bear the quiet for long and eventually cleared his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you for not doing the same to me when I ascended…” 

Giovanni gave him a thoughtful look as he smirked. 

“In all honesty, I was very much tempted. Someone should have wiped the smug look off of your face.”

Antonio could not fault him there. His arrogance at his new title was apparent from day one. It only grew as Antonio became more successful. At the time he felt he deserved to be vain, selfish- entitled to anything and everything he wanted. That was his thinking then, before everything crashed down around him. Antonio was not as confident now, and suspected Giovannin could sense it. 

“Though I would not have gone as far as you might have for your little predecessor- I must congratulate you on your boldness. You’ve certainly made your impact on the Higher Clergy, Antonio. I doubt they expected that from you of all people.”

“Yet you did nothing when you stepped down?”

For the first time in a while, Giovanni perked an eyebrow up at him, confused. His voice was not annoyed, nor contained any hint of malice. 

“Pardon me?”

“Why did you never lash out at them? You never resented me… Or, at least I’m SURE you never did. But you never fought back when they demoted you from the project. You practically loved-”

“-Loved the stage more than you. Yes, I know.”

“Then why? Surely they would expect such a thing from you.” 

“You speak of it as if you wanted me to maul you in front of the whole congregation.”

“Not me, but the Higher Clergy.” 

The mouth of the wine bottle clipped the lip of the wine glass as Giovanni poured himself more- emptying the last of it as he huffed to himself. The wine was gone in one undignified chug before the glass clattered on the table, startling Antonio. Giovanni slapped his hand on the table, looking over his glasses with a sudden serious gaze. 

“Simple,” came the firm answer, “I choose not to live my life for them.” 

“You could have continued had you not been ready.”

Fingers drummed violently on the table as Giovanni pushed his glass aside. 

“Did you invite me all the way out here to antagonize me, or just to speak of my apparent lack of effort in holding my spotlight?” 

“Incidentally, I did.”

Disbelief painted Giovanni’s face at the admittance. A small, apologetic smile was offered before his older brother could retort. Awkwardly, Antonio cleared his throat while looking his brother dead in the eyes.

“Giovanni… I need your advice. I’m afraid- quite bluntly, I’m afraid I have not been as strong as you.” Giovanni grunted and lifted up a gloved hand.

“With all due respect, Antonio- what exactly do you want me to say? Do you want me to pity you for fulfilling your purpose? I will not add to your self imposed pity party.”

“That’s not what I want!”

“Then what? What could I possibly have to offer you?”

Had he not known his brother, Antonio would have missed the anger in his voice covering up the hurt. The old wound that made Giovanni the wounded, bitter old man many accused him of being. His brother had nothing to offer him because he had no idea himself. 

“I just want to know- how did you get past it all?” Antonio bit back, failing to keep the emotions at bay. “You were the star before me. You said it yourself, you loved the stage! The work and music meant everything to you…. Just please, give me this. You’ve always been the hard ass among us. How?” 

Two sets of mismatched eyes stared at one another for a long moment. Antonio barely took a breath as the tension set between them. Giovanni closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Not to keep his legendary temper down, Antonio knew, but to will away the deep pain. He poured his brother another glass like an offering on the chapel altar. It was gone in a heartbeat and Giovanni sighed. 

“I already told you, Antonio. Live for yourself. I- you might feel worthless and expendable by Them. Like some little puppet to sing and nothing more. But we are so much more. We as greater than them, without their little project. Without their stupid band that pales in comparison to what our blood has built for centuries. I refused to bow to their wants, and refuse to feel any less because they decided my time was over. Understand?”

Without looking at his brother he looked out onto the streets below. They were empty save for the few flickering lights of the street lamps, like fading stars in the distance. In that moment his mind flashed back to all the city lights from his tour bus. All the arenas, the cheering, the love and energy of the crowd. He remembered the interviews, and the one glorious moment where he held the golden award in front of thousands. A tear threatened to fall down his eye. 

“Don’t you miss it?”

“Every day.” 

The tear streaked down his face, and he was none the wiser that it would be his last one. 

“Antonio- look at me.” 

By some miracle, Antonio willed himself to meet his brother’s eyes- now softer, if such a feat were possible. Giovanni leaned in, his tone in a serious growl. 

“You are much more. Remember your worth.” 

Dinner ended in a blur as the final drops of wine were shared. Antonio suspected that the chat had lifted weight from them both, but never dared to question it further. His brother’s final pieces of advice rang in his head as he bid Giovanni a good night. Per usual, they had departed in their own vehicles- Antonio to the Clergy and Giovanni to who knows where for pleasure seeking. Antonio stayed quiet as he watched the city lights from his car door window. Suddenly a new appreciation had bloomed in his chest, and he felt a calm like he hadn’t known for many nights.


	7. New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of my first full Ghost piece. Was very fun getting to do such a character study. Thank you for reading <3

The repairs of his sitting room went surprisingly well. The work had taken a few days, but the repairmen were thorough and swift. It was definitely worth the inconvenience of having workers in and out of his quarters all week. The glass door of the balcony was finally fixed, as were the sconces that lined the walls. Antonio had even put in a special order to replace them with more ornate pieces. The gold fixtures went well with the new chandelier and a fresh coat of paint on the walls. He had tipped his interior designer handsomely for the suggestion. Ivory and gold made the space grander and more lively! 

Antonio stood in the middle of the chamber, arms contently tucked behind his back as he admired the new room. The new carpet beneath his shoes felt great, and the colors brought a smile to his face. All that remained were the furnishings that were scheduled to be delivered soon. Fine mahogany chairs and tables, with soft yet bold upholstery. A darker wood than he was used to, but what fine contrast he was sure it would make. 

When it was time for the room to come together, Antonio was sure it would end up more Victorian in style. A slight, brighter look than the Gothic appearance he was used to. He assured himself the change would be worth it. The lighter colors already brightened his mood and made him feel lighter. Antonio had all the time in the world to contemplate the rest of the decor. 

He mused over the idea of skipping curtains over the balcony doors, altogether. The sunlight was more refreshing in recent days when he left the doors uncovered.The glass door eased open as he stepped onto the balcony. Lifting his chin, he smiled to himself as the rays of the morning sun warmed his face. Only weeks, yet it felt like years since he last greeted a new day. There was something invigorating about the feeling. Hands found the railing as he gazed out into the world. The same trees, the same sky- but something different in the way he saw it. A new appreciation for the sights below him. 

Antonio let the gentle breeze play through his hair and smiled again. Same, yet brand new. Just like he felt.


End file.
